


To Warm a Winter Night

by redwineandqueer



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canadian Winters, Communication, Cuddling, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28020660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwineandqueer/pseuds/redwineandqueer
Summary: “Oh fuck!”David slams on the brakes. The car slows but doesn’t stop on the icy surface of the road. He yanks the steering wheel to the right to avoid the enormous beast that had appeared out of the dense forest to the left of the highway. But he knows it’s already too late.The car shudders into the turn, skidding on the slippery pavement. David throws his hands up to protect his head and squeezes his eyes shut. There’s a deafening squeal of metal and David is thrown forward into his seat belt only to be immediately pushed back again by the inflating airbag.His hands jolt into his face. Something snaps and he prays it wasn’t his nose.**David hits a moose. During winter. In Canada.It goes about as well as you'd think.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 49
Kudos: 219





	To Warm a Winter Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've actually posted in over a decade. But these two idiots set up shop in my brain this year and won't leave me alone so here we go. It's pure self-indulgence so please excuse the blatant medical inaccuracies.

“Oh _fuck_!”

David slams on the brakes. The car slows but doesn’t stop on the icy surface of the road. He yanks the steering wheel to the right to avoid the enormous beast that had appeared out of the dense forest to the left of the highway. But he knows it’s already too late. 

The car shudders into the turn, skidding on the slippery pavement. David throws his hands up to protect his head and squeezes his eyes shut. There’s a deafening squeal of metal and David is thrown forward into his seat belt only to be immediately pushed back again by the inflating airbag.

His hands jolt into his face. Something _snaps_ and he prays it wasn’t his nose. 

The engine struggles for a moment before dying completely, silence again descending over the deserted road. Pushing the airbag aside, David peeks out at a front windshield now covered in spider-webbing cracks. 

The behemoth that might have just broken his nose - _again_ and for no good reason this time - is _still standing upright_. He’d hit it with a _fucking car_ and it’s _standing_ there. It almost looks _bored_. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?!” David whispers harshly into the silence, not wanting to spook the animal but needing some sort of outlet for the panic bubbling up. What kind of freak forest monster can get hit with a car and _stand there_ as if nothing had happened?! 

And, oh my god, it is definitely some sort of monster. Standing at least seven feet tall - not counting the massive fucking antlers on top of its head -- David can’t even see its entire body. As he’s sitting there gaping at it, the creature in front of him turns its head and stares through the cracked glass. David presses back into his seat and tries to telepathically suggest that it’s time to go now, thanks very much. 

Shaking itself off, the moose -- and it could only be a moose, David thinks frantically, but do moose even get _that_ big? -- gives him one last dirty look and, with a grace that a creature its size shouldn’t possess, trods back into the forest and out of sight. 

David takes a breath. And another. Then approximately thirty more until the sharp immediacy of his panic fades into a background roar. 

As the panic ebbs, a throbbing in his left wrist makes itself known. First feeling his nose and assuring himself that it is thankfully intact, David gingerly removes his left glove and takes looks at his wrist. It’s already swelling and tender to the touch. David prods at it but there’s none of the sharp pain that would indicate a break. He wiggles his fingers, reassured when there’s no more than a dull throb. 

David quickly scans the rest of his body -- well, as much as he can while still crammed into the front seat -- noting only a few bruises and an uncomfortable ache in his right knee where it’s pressed against the dashboard. Okay. So he’s probably not dying of internal injuries or anything. Now what? 

David tries to start the car again. He turns the key and the engine sputters for a second before dying again with an air of finality. Fumbling one-handed, he grabs for his phone and checks the signal. Nothing. Not a single bar. He pushes down the panic threatening to overwhelm him and tries to think. 

He’s not on a main highway, but the road to Hannah Jamison’s farm is hardly deserted. He usually sees at least four or five other cars when he makes his monthly trips out to pick up her handmade bath bombs. But, as a traitorous inner voice -- one that sounds suspiciously like Alexis -- reminds him, he usually doesn’t drive out here when it’s this fucking cold. 

Any other time of year, he would have postponed the trip when the temperature dipped below -40 where it had been hovering all week. But Valentines’ Day was coming up and they’d made a killing on the bath bombs last year. So when their supply had dwindled before February had even started, David decided to brave the weather for the sake of their sales. 

Patrick hadn’t been a fan of the idea. But, then again, Patrick hadn’t been a fan of much of anything over the past week. To be perfectly honest, his normally calm and put-together husband had been miserable and cranky all week long and David was incredibly over it. So much so, he finally admits to himself, that he might have headed out on an ill-advised vendor trip that morning just to get away for a few hours. 

_“Does this really need to be done today, David?”_

_“We’re down to just three of the bath bombs and we’re totally out of the heart-shaped ones, If we don’t get more, people are going to start looking somewhere else. You should know this - I mean, you’re the numbers guy.”_

_Patrick turns away from him, a pinched look on his face._

_“I know we need more, David.” The tension in Patrick’s voice and body is palpable from across the room. “That’s why I told you to order more this year. If you’d listened to me, this wouldn’t be an issue now.”_

_David is feeding off his husband’s mood and he knows it, but he can’t stop his indignation at that. “I did order more! Hannah makes them in her garage - this is all she could get to us last month!”_

_“Well maybe if you’d given her a bit more notice!”_

_"She makes them in her garage, Patrick! On her own! It’s not like we can chain her to the table and force her to make as many as we want!” He takes a deep breath, seeing this conversation rapidly heading off the rails and wanting to redirect before either of them says anything they’ll regret. “That’s part of dealing with local craftspeople - we have to be flexible.”_

_Patrick spins back around. “And maybe relying on the whims of local artists isn’t exactly the best idea for a business.”_

_Well, so much for keeping the conversation on the rails, David thinks, stung more than he wants to let on. He knows his hurt is visible when Patrick takes a step towards him, his face softening with regret._

_“David …”_

_“No. You know what? You can spend today contemplating better business strategies. I’m going to pick up the bath bombs and then I’m going to stay at Stevie’s tonight.” David grabs his bag and heads for the door, hearing Patrick call his name again. Angry and hurt, David ignores him and pushes out into the frigid air._

Replaying that morning’s conversation in his head, the first tendrils of panic wrap around his chest and start to tighten. 

He told Patrick he was staying at Stevie’s tonight. But he’d been too angry and hurt to talk to anyone, even Stevie, before leaving town and the reception on the road to Hannah’s farm was inconsistent on a good day. 

So now he’s sitting in a wrecked car with no heating, on a day that was -40, snow in the forecast and no one expecting him until tomorrow. Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck.

The cold had already started to make itself known, creeping in through the cracks in the windshield and the imperfect seals around the windows of Patrick’s ancient car. And fuck it's _freezing_ \- 40 below suddenly a terrifying-sounding number.

Okay, so he couldn’t expect anyone to come and rescue him. He’s an adult. And sure, maybe he’s spent the last few years realizing how many life skills he absolutely doesn’t have but he’s a lot more competent than he used to be. He can figure this out. 

David unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts to open the door. He’d just passed Pine Road before the demon moose had tried to run him off the road and several people from town had cabins along there that he could take shelter in. Better than spending a long, cold night in his husband’s wreck of a car. 

Getting the door open, he pushes himself up and takes a step. His knee, which up until now had been a background ache, crumples beneath him with a sharp, tearing pain. David screams, barely catching himself on the roof of the car. 

The pain flares hot for a minute before settling back into a throbbing ache, albeit one that’s now much harder to ignore. 

“Fuck,” he moans, aware that’s the only word he’s said since before the crash. He tests out his leg but as soon as he’s put any weight on it the pain spikes again, sharp and hot. 

“ _Fuck!”_ David gives in to the panic coursing through his veins for a minute. He’s going to _die_ here. In the middle of fucking nowhere in Patrick’s death trap of a car. He’s going to freeze to death and they won’t find his frozen body until the snow melts in the spring. Or maybe never if the wild animals get him. Do moose eat people? It doesn’t matter - there are wolves and coyotes in the forest - he’s heard them out behind the motel on particularly cold January evenings, their howls sending a chill up his spine. He’s going to freeze or get eaten or bleed out from an injury he didn’t even know he had. 

His head hits the roof of the with a thunk that sends throbbing pain reverberating through his skull. Panic threatening to overwhelm him, he tries to remember the breathing exercise his therapist taught him last week. Four counts in. Seven counts to hold. And fuck, was it eight counts out? Or five? It doesn’t matter, just keep doing it. It’ll be fine, he thinks, just as the first snowflake hits his cheek. It’ll be fine. 

Someone will come by soon, it’ll be fine. 

* * *

It isn’t fine. 

Three hours later and not a single car has gone by. After his failed attempt to walk to safety and subsequent panic attack, David had pulled himself together long enough to fish the emergency car kit out of the trunk. The kit his ever-practical and responsible husband had insisted on keeping in the car despite David’s aesthetic objections.

_“I just don’t know why it has to be neon yellow. It’s a crime against colour theory. Couldn’t we put all the important safety stuff in another bag? One that isn’t actively trying to blind me?”_

_“It’s an emergency kit, David, not a fashion statement --”_

_“Everything’s a fashion statement if you try hard enough.”_

_“-- we want it to be visible, even in the dark --”_

_“It’s visible from fucking space.”_

_“-- in case we need it in an emergency.”_

Glancing at the open bag on the seat next to him, David’s never been happier to have lost an argument in his life. 

After grabbing the bag and hopping painfully around the car, David had crawled into the backseat and set about doing everything he can remember from the one winter survival class he’d been forced to take in high school. 

He put the warning light outside so anyone passing by can see him. He used the thin plastic sheeting to cover the cracked windshield. And he set up the emergency lantern so he could use it in case he’s still here when it gets dark -- he won’t be though. 

Now he’s cocooned in the thick, hideous blanket Patrick had insisted on adding to the kit, his hat pulled tightly over his head. His left hand and wrist are swollen up to the point where they’re hardly recognizable and the pain in his knee has settled into a throbbing ache. With his right hand, he pulls the blanket tightly around himself, sending up a prayer of thanks to the universe that he’d lost that fight as well. 

_“Don’t you think a blanket is a bit excessive? Especially one this ugly? It’s Schitt’s Creek, not the Arctic Circle.”_

_“It’s Northern Ontario, David. It doesn’t have to be the Arctic Circle for it to get cold. And if we ever get stuck somewhere during winter, you’ll be thankful for any blanket, no matter how unfashionable. ”_

_“We’ll see about that. It would have to get pretty cold for me to even consider putting purple flannel on my body.”_

Fun new fact he’s learned about himself. There is a limit to how much he cares about fashion and that limit is minus forty centigrade. 

Normally David would hate being proven wrong so many times, consecutively, in a row. But sitting in his frozen seat he thinks he’d willingly be wrong about every argument for the rest of his life -- even the one they’d had that morning -- if a car would just come around the bend. 

He hadn’t seen another living creature since the moose had walked back into the forest. 

Snow is falling heavily outside the cracked glass in front of him. The moose’s tracks had disappeared over an hour ago. If it piled up much higher, cars wouldn’t even be able to get through and this road was low on the priority list for plows. 

No, he stops himself before panic has a chance to set in again. Someone is going to come. It’ll stop snowing, someone will come and it’ll be fine. Maybe Stevie popped into the store today and knows he’s supposed to come over and is calling around right now trying to find him. Maybe she’s already called Patrick and he’s calling around too. Because no matter what past-David would have thought, present-David knows for a fact that Patrick wouldn’t let their fight get in the way if he thought David was in danger. 

They’re looking for him. He’s 100% sure. 

98%

A solid 78%. 

And even if they’re _not_ looking for him -- which they are -- people live along this road. Not many -- _and most of them are smart enough not to leave the house in this cold,_ his inner traitor whispers -- but some. It’s a road. People use roads, even in snowstorms. 

He starts to shiver. 

Someone has to come. 

* * *

No one comes. 

Two hours later and he’d stopped shivering about fifteen minutes ago. Somewhere in the far recesses of his mind, he knows that’s not a good sign. But a deep lassitude has settled on him like another blanket and he just can’t bring himself to worry. Which should be a whole reason to worry in itself, but he can’t find the strength to care. 

He’s just so sleepy. He knows there’s a reason he was trying to stay awake, but he’s quickly losing sight of it. And the beckoning darkness promises at least the illusion of warmth. 

Besides, someone is going to come. And then it won’t be his problem to deal with anymore. 

He’s going to rest his eyes for a minute. The snow swirling outside is making him so sleepy and his eyes are so heavy. He’s just going to rest them for a minute. 

* * *

He wakes up to a bright light shining in his eyes, gentle fingers brushing his face and a concerned voice saying his name. 

“David? David, please open your eyes for me, baby.”

There’s the faintest flickering of warmth somewhere deep inside his frozen body at the sound of Patrick’s voice. There’s a reason he should be surprised to hear it but, for the life of him, he can’t remember why. It’s okay though. Patrick is here. Patrick makes everything okay. Even if his voice sounds all upset for some reason. 

“Come on, wake up, sweetheart.”

Fuck. Two pet names in a row. Patrick isn’t just worried. He only pulls out the multiple pet names when he’s really freaked out about something. So, okay, Patrick needs him. He can do this. 

With what feels like a herculean effort, David opens his eyes and Patrick’s frantic face swims into focus in front of him. 

“Hiiiii,” David slurs, trying to focus enough to remember what’s going on. 

“Hi. Hey baby.” Patrick smiles softly, relief colouring his tone. “It’s so good to see those beautiful eyes.” His smile is so nice. His voice is nice too. Everything about Patrick is nice. And soft. Not like David who is all hard edges and prickly exterior and inability to compromise. No wonder Patrick has been cranky with him all week, he thinks, as his husband’s face starts to blur again. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t go back to sleep, David. I need you to keep your eyes open, okay?”

Oh. Okay, yeah, that’s probably a good idea. If Patrick is this freaked out, the least David can do is be awake for him. He can do that. He pries his eyes back open and this time manages to focus enough to see that his husband is kneeling beside him, snow swirling around him and already piling up on his tacky wool toque. 

“Mmmm… hi,” he gets out, memories slowly slotting back into place. Patrick’s car. A moose-monster from hell. Cold. It’s so hard to think. Why does his brain feel like molasses? 

“You said that already, but hi again,” Patrick smiles, the familiar teasing settling something that’s been frantically fluttering in David’s chest. 

His husband’s expression almost immediately shifts into focused determination. 

“I’m going to get you out of here and get you warmed up, okay David? I just need you to stay awake for me for a few minutes.” Patrick untucks the blanket from where it’s wrapped around David’s body. David whines, trying to pull it back over himself. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry baby. But the car is wrecked - we need to get you over to Ray’s car and get somewhere out of the cold.” Patrick carefully maneuvers David towards the car door and makes to help him to a standing position when David’s frozen brain remembers something. 

“Wait m’knee,” he mumbles. “Can’t walk.” 

Patrick glances down at David’s knee but, of course, can’t see anything through his pants. 

“Okay, that’s okay. I’ll help you. Lean on me.” Patrick’s strong arms slide around David’s waist and back, lifting him up and out of the car. Once he’s mostly standing, Patrick’s shoulder tucks up under his own, taking most of his weight. 

“I got you, David. It’s only a few steps, okay? Here we go.” 

“Where’re we goin’?” David says, trying to be more of a help than a hindrance as Patrick gently but steadily moves them forward. 

“We’re going to go get in Ray’s car.” That’s Patrick’s patient voice. “And then we’re going to get somewhere warm and dry.” 

“Mmmm,” David replies, his eyes drifting shut again. 

Only for them to immediately pop back open to the sound of Ray’s car door hinges screeching. Hands gently maneuver him into the passenger seat. He hears his seatbelt click shut and feels the welcome weight of the blanket being tucked back around his body before the door closes with another horrendous screech. 

The next thing he’s aware of is a blast of warm air hitting him full in the face. Opening his eyes again, he looks over at Patrick who is pulling the car out onto the snow-covered road, an intensely focused look back on his face. 

David loves that look. That look always means good things. Good things for the store. Good things for their relationship. And _very_ good things in bed. Though, even with the warm air blowing on him, he very much wants to keep his clothes on for the moment. 

“Everything’s going to be okay, David. We’re going to get somewhere warm and dry. Don’t worry.”

David lets his eyes drift back shut, enjoying the heat moving over his cold skin. Patrick is here now. It's going to be okay. Patrick will take care of everything. 

* * *

“David, come on, we’re here. Open your eyes for me, baby.”

“Mmm ... close the window, s’cold,” David tries to bury himself further under the blankets but something is preventing him from rolling over. When he moves to free himself from whatever restraint is keeping him in place, an agonizing spike of pain shoots up his left arm, jolting him back into awareness. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, opening his eyes.

Patrick is hovering in front of him again. “Are you okay? Is it your knee?” The frantic note is back in Patrick’s voice. David shakes his head, trying to will his brain back online. He vaguely remembers Patrick appearing as if by magic and manhandling him over to Ray’s car but it’s all distant -- like a scene from a movie. His brain is working more sharply now, some of the fuzziness having dissipated as his body warmed itself up. 

“Mmm, no. My wrist,” he finally responds. “Think it’s sprained or something.” 

“Okay, baby. We can look at that and your knee once we get you inside and warmed up.” 

“Where’re we?” David tries to get his limbs to cooperate with Patrick who is carefully extricating him from the car. 

“There’s too much snow on the roads to try and get back home. Or even to Thornbridge. When I went over to Ray’s to borrow the car, Roland was there and offered up his cabin if the snow got too bad.” Patrick gets David on his feet -- unsteady and mostly draped over Patrick’s solid strength -- but technically on his feet. 

From somewhere deep inside the mess that is the current state of his brain, David dredges up enough indignation to offer a brief protest. “ _Roland’s_ cabin? Ew,” he chokes out, a shadow of his usual expressiveness, but enough of _him_ that he can see Patrick’s face relax a fraction. 

“Well, it’s that or spend the night in Ray’s car.” David recoils at that idea. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” Patrick gets his shoulder under David’s again and starts moving them towards the blurry mass that must be the cabin. 

Thoughts are still skittering away from him whenever he tries to focus his mind so David lets things go for a minute and focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, using Patrick to keep his weight off his injured knee. He’s not sure how much he’s contributing to their forward momentum, but hey, he’s trying. 

“There we go, David. We’re almost there. We’ll get inside and get a fire going, okay?” 

David lets out an almost obscene moan at that, drawing an amused chuckle from Patrick. Fire, yes. Fire sounds good. Fire sounds _incredible_. He redoubles his efforts and manages to take a bit more of his own weight as they struggle towards the door. 

Finally reaching the cabin, Patrick props him up against the wall and bends down to dig through the snowdrifts piling up against the door. David whines at the loss of his body heat and tries to follow him down, but doesn’t get farther than a couple of inches before collapsing back. He’s exhausted -- he’s used up the last reserves of his energy getting from the car to the cabin. 

A whole eternity later, Patrick stands back up, a snowy key in hand. Glancing at David’s face, Patrick slides the key into the door and lets them into the cold, dark cabin. David has a minute to note a small, but not completely horrifically decorated living room with an inviting-looking couch, a tiny kitchen, and two closed doors before Patrick is steering them forwards. He sets David down on the couch and moves away again. 

“Nooooo,” David’s whining but he can’t help it. He’s cold and exhausted and his wrist hurts and his knee is throbbing and the only thing that’s felt good all day has been Patrick’s warm, solid weight pressed all along his side. 

“I’ll be right back David. I’m going to get the fire going and grab some blankets.” Patrick smoothes a hand down the side of David’s face. His touch feels like heaven. But, honestly, a fire and some blankets _also_ sound like heaven. David can be patient. He can wait a minute because then he gets to have a fire and blankets _and_ Patrick. At the moment, he can’t think of a single thing that sounds better than being wrapped up in Patrick and a pile of blankets in front of a roaring fire. 

Fighting to keep his eyes open, David watches his very competent husband as he builds the fire. When the kindling catches and the flames start to flicker over Patrick’s face, David catches his breath. Three years of marriage and his husband’s beauty still sometimes stops him in his tracks. 

Said gorgeous husband moves over towards the bedroom. Patrick disappears through the door and David lets his eyes fall shut. 

When he blinks them back open, not only is Patrick back in front of him but the fire has roared up, throwing heat around the room. Patrick tosses a stack of blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace before moving around behind the couch and shoving it forward. With David sitting on it. And god, David knows it’s cliché, but he swoons for a minute.

The world lurches around him but the heat coming off of the fire is incredible. They come to a stop, the couch tucked up as close to the fire as possible without being a fire hazard. Patrick’s been busy. There’s a kettle set over the flames and two mugs ready to go on the hearth. 

Patrick strips off his snow jacket and boots. He does the same to David and then finally -- _finally_ \-- drops down into a corner of the couch, opening his legs and pulling David to lie back against him. He reaches down and starts layering blankets over them both, tucking them tight around their bodies. The blankets are warm from the fire, a sensation almost as good as Patrick’s body at David’s back. 

“We’re going to get you warmed up and then we’ll tackle your wrist and knee, okay David?”

Patrick doesn’t seem to expect a response, continuing to layer blankets until David is wonderfully squeezed between layers of fabric and his husband’s chest. 

Finishing with the last blanket, Patrick slides his arms into the warm cocoon he’s created around them and starts rubbing David’s arms to get the blood flowing again. And, honestly, despite the moose and the crash and the cold and the fear, David is in heaven. He’s not warm yet, but there are tendrils of heat starting to take hold and bring his body and brain back online. 

Patrick starts to hum. David recognizes the tune as being one Patrick has been fooling around with on his guitar for months. He thinks it’s an original song, which should send a surge of anxiety running through him, but, strangely, doesn’t. Patrick hasn’t shared the whole song with him yet, but he knows that’s coming and his calm anticipation about it comes as a pleasant shock to him. 

David turns his head, nuzzling into the bend where Patrick’s neck meets his shoulder. He’s still shivering but it’s getting less violent and his legs and arms are tingling, the feeling returning. 

Patrick untangles one of his arms from their shared blanket nest and threads his fingers through David’s hair. 

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” 

“Mmmm, hi honey. Better. Warmer.” David closes his eyes as Patrick’s fingers scratch gently at his scalp. 

They breathe together for a few quiet minutes. 

Eventually, Patrick shifts David slightly to the side and leans forward to grab the kettle from the fireplace. He sits back and fills one of the mugs beside him with boiling water. 

“It’s not a macchiato but it’ll warm you up,” Patrick says, blowing on the hot water. “I found some tea in the cupboards and I put some honey in here -- the sugar should help.” He holds the mug up to David’s lips. 

David sips at the hot liquid, its warmth spreading through his body. He’s in pain, still shivering slightly, and sitting on _Roland’s_ couch but he’s pretty sure he could stay here forever and be blissfully happy about it. 

“If we're talking about forever, I think we can aspire to something a bit nicer than this, David.”

Oh, had he said that out loud? 

Patrick huffs a laugh, sliding his hand around to cup David’s jaw and tilt his head up. Their lips come together, all soft skin and warm breath. 

Pulling back with a sigh, David lays his head back down on Patrick’s shoulder. 

“How did you know to come find me?”

Patrick’s flushes slightly. “I _may_ have been pestering Stevie all afternoon to tell me when you got to her place. When you hadn’t shown up by four and weren’t answering anyone’s calls, I knew something was wrong.” His face suddenly twists to the side and he shifts to meet David’s eyes. 

“David, I am so sorry about what I said about the store. I think the store is a brilliant idea. I quit my job and invested in it because I think it’s such a good idea and I’ve never regretted it for a minute. It was the second-best decision of my life.” 

Patrick's earnest regret is almost painful to observe. Tears prick at David’s eyes and he takes a few deep breaths before replying.

“I know -- I know you didn’t mean it. You were upset this morning.” David’s eyes fall shut -- he’s so much better at actually talking about things these days, but sometimes Patrick’s eyes are so _loud_. 

“But the thing is … you’ve kind of been upset all week? And I don’t know why?” He hates how tentative his voice gets whenever he has to talk about his actual human emotions. 

Patrick sighs. “You’re right -- I know. And I’m sorry David. I should have told you this sooner.” 

David tenses up and tries to move backwards but Patrick’s arms tighten reassuringly around him as he continues. “It’s nothing about us, David, I swear. We’re good. I love you.” 

Past-David would never have believed him. That’s what people always said and then it turns out everything was most definitely not good. But years of exposure to Patrick and his loud, loud eyes have worn down his defences and David now finds himself trusting people -- at least a select group of people -- more often than not. He opens his eyes and meets Patrick’s steady gaze. 

“I love you too. But could you maybe tell me what it is about before my brain starts taking wild guesses?” 

Patrick’s fingers find their way back into his hair, something he finds more comforting than he wants to admit to himself. “Remember the end of last quarter when I was trying to get the reports filed on the same day the pipe broke upstairs?” 

David’s mind wants to glaze over at any mention of _quarters_ or _reports_ but he nods because he does remember. Very clearly. He’d lost a pair of Rick Owens to that particular catastrophe. Of course he remembers. 

Patrick huffs a breath and David knows he’d be jamming his hands into his pockets if he could. “Well, I wasn’t paying as close attention as I should and I filed one of the forms wrong. I can sort it out, but it’s going to end up costing us over two thousand dollars. Which basically wipes out any of our extra Valentine’s sales.” Patrick’s words are practically tripping over each other. “Which means we’re probably going to have to push back the trip to Tokyo. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought I could sort it out. And then I realized I couldn’t and I know how much you’ve been looking forward to showing me Japan and I …”

If anyone recognizes the early stages of a panic attack it’s David. “Hey hey. No, honey, slow down. Take a breath for me.” He worms his uninjured hand out from under the weight of blankets and lays his palm along Patrick’s jaw. “Breathe for me, honey.” He waits until he sees Patrick take several big deep breaths, shoulders coming down from where they’d been up around his ears.

“Thanks. Sorry, I --”

“Got yourself all worked up because you had a problem and thought you’d deal with it on your own instead of talking to me about it.” 

Patrick looks away, flushing. 

“I’m not upset about the money, Patrick.” He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he means that. “You made a mistake. On what was, if I remember, an _extremely_ stressful day. You’re human. Everyone makes mistakes.” His tone shifts, becoming more playful. “I mean, not me obviously, because of my flawless taste and judgement, but generally speaking.”

“Of course. Of course. Those are definitely things that you possess.” The return to their usual teasing calms something in both of them. 

David is tempted to leave it there and follow the familiar path of their banter, but he needs to say this next part. 

“But -- after your parents -- I thought we’d talked about the whole keeping-stuff-from-me thing.” 

He hates to see the guilt creeping into Patrick’s eyes, but he remembers the smell of charred meat and the feeling of his world dropping out from under him and knows they have to have this conversation. 

“We did. I know. And I meant what I said. But then this happened and I just thought - I just was - I don’t know, David. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I trust you!” Patrick cups the back of David’s head. “Every time I tell you something, you help make it better. And I know that. But I just kept putting it off and I don’t know why.” He’s breathing heavily by the time he finishes speaking, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

“Keep breathing, honey.” David runs his fingers through Patrick’s hair, thrilling at the curls he’d finally convinced his husband to grow out. “Okay. I know that you trust me and that you wanted to tell me. But I think it might be worth exploring why you didn’t.” He pauses.

Fuck, he’s come this far, he might as well say the rest. “Because sometimes it feels like you need to be the guy who takes care of everything. Which means I need to be the one to be taken care of. And, don’t get me wrong, I really, really love that you take such good care of me. But -- but, I can take care of you too.” He’s proud of himself for not letting his voice crack until the very end. 

“David, you do. Baby, you take such good care of me.” Patrick cups David’s face in both hands. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. When I realized you were in trouble today, I --” His voice chokes off and David presses closer. 

“I know, honey, and I’m okay. You found me and saved me. But you keep doing the thing where you don’t tell me something hard and it almost always makes things worse in the end.” 

Patrick leans their foreheads together. “I don’t -- I don’t see you as someone to be taken care of, David. But then something happens and I convince myself it’s easier to take care of it myself. I don’t -- I just -- I’m worried I’m going to keep doing it even if I don’t want to.” 

And David has to kiss him for that. Patrick is so amazing at so many things, but admitting to weakness is not one of them. David is trying positive reinforcement. 

“I don’t know why I do a lot of things, honey. But sometimes it helps to talk about it with someone. Do you think you’d be up for trying that?”

He watches the brief struggle on Patrick’s face - years of being cast as _the guy you lean on_ warring with his desire to tackle the problem head-on. “Yes, we can do that. We can do that. I think that might … that might be a really good idea.” Patrick slumps forward slightly. 

“Okay, so maybe I could ask Amanda at my next session if she can recommend someone? If you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah. That would be okay. That’s a good idea.”

Patrick’s trying so hard and David has to reward him. He pulls Patrick the rest of the way in and presses their lips together. It’s chaste and only lasts a few short seconds but David feels the promise in the kiss. Like they’d just sewn together another seam in the life they’re weaving together. 

“Thank you,” David breathes into Patrick’s mouth. He shifts to pull his husband closer, unwittingly jarring his injured wrist in the process. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, wincing. 

Patrick shakes himself off and sits up straight. “Right. I need to look at that. And your knee.” He pushes the blankets off of them. David lets him, finally warm and more than ready to be in less pain. 

Freeing them from their warm, cozy nest, Patrick shifts David to the side and crawls out from behind him. He disappears for a minute while David tries to shake the pins and needles out of his limbs. 

Returning with a first aid kit in hand, Patrick reaches for David’s left wrist. “So what actually happened? The car was a mess when I found you.” 

“Is that different than how it usually looks?”

“David.” 

Under Patrick’s amused exasperation, David could hear the remnants of hours of tension and worry. 

“A giant fucking moose-monster came out of nowhere and slammed into the car,” David explains, finally warm enough to inject the appropriate amount of drama into his voice. “It was horrible. I don’t even think the fucking thing was hurt! It just fucked off into the forest after destroying your car -- not that that’s a hard thing to do, your car’s basically held together with glue and paper clips at this point.” 

Ignoring David’s editorial comments, Patrick looks stricken. “You hit a moose?! Oh my god, David, are you okay? Fuck, I should have checked you over sooner. I was so worried about getting you warm that I didn’t --”

“Hey, hey, I’m okay. I checked myself over after it happened and, other than my wrist and knee, I feel fine. I mean, I’m not saying we don’t stop at a doctor on the way home, but I’m okay, honey.” 

Patrick doesn’t look entirely convinced and prods at David’s stomach and chest, looking for sore spots.

David indulges him until Patrick seems satisfied.

“Okay, fine. But you need to tell me if anything starts to feel bad and we’re stopping at the hospital on the way home.” 

“I’ll stop at the hospital if we get the good pizza afterwards.”

Patrick smiles. “We can get the good pizza after.” He sets to work, quickly wrapping up David’s wrist and knee. David really does love it when his husband takes care of him. Being the centre of all that focused attention just really does something for him, okay? 

“Okay, I think that’s as much as I can do until the morning. How about I grab you some painkillers and heat us up some soup?”

Soup and pain pills sound like ambrosia from the gods right now and David can’t keep a small moan from escaping. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Patrick says, laughter colouring his words. He tucks a couple of blankets back around David and drops another kiss to his forehead before going to put the soup on. 

* * *

Later, when the soup has been demolished and the painkillers are dulling the ache in David’s wrist, Patrick hauls the mattress out of the bedroom and sets it up in front of the fire. David resolves not to think about anything else that might have been done on or around the mattress and instead focuses on the feeling of being warm and wrapped in Patrick’s arms. He lays his head on Patrick’s chest and lets the rhythm of his breathing soothe away the last of the day’s fears. 

“What was the best decision?”

“Hmmm?” Patrick responds sleepily.

“Earlier, you said investing in the store was the second-best decision you’d ever made. What was the best?” 

He’s obviously fishing, but he’s also had a really terrible day and he hopes that’s enough to sway Patrick. 

It is. Patrick tilts David’s chin up and presses their lips together. Patrick’s tongue darts out, swiping against David’s lower lip before he pulls away, his gaze soft. 

“You know what the best decision was. I told you about it on top of a mountain.”

The warmth that floods through David banishes the last remnants of cold from his body.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, moose most definitely do get that big. And if you’ve ever lived in moose country you know that in moose v. car, moose always wins.


End file.
